Time Lapse Lifeline
by fairytalevillain
Summary: Spoilers! Set after Reichenbach - John's tried to move on with his life; it's now his wedding day, but Sherlock can't seem to just let him go.


Okay, so this is my first story on here, my first Johnlock, and my first slashy thing. Also I wrote this while watching American Horror Story, but I hope it's okay :')

Dedicated to Charlotte for actually putting this idea in my head okay. ~~

Three years. It'd been nearly three years since John had watched his best friend plunge however many feet onto the ground below. Three years since Sherlock had died and John still didn't quite know what to do with himself. He'd moved on; or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

He was still mad at Sherlock. It was hardly fair that he'd just thrown himself so carelessly from that building, with little more than a goodbye phone call. There was no closure in that. He'd never had the chance to tell Sherlock how he really felt, and in that, those feelings had festered, clawing away inside him. He'd do anything for one more hour together. To tell Sherlock the truth.

But now, as the doors opened, he finally realised that he'd made his choice. She glided down the aisle, clinging to her father's arm, a vision in white. John knew that this was wrong, that he shouldn't try to find solace with her, shouldn't marry her. He couldn't love her the way he'd loved Sherlock, the way another man could love her. He couldn't make her happy, and the odds of this marriage surviving were low.

When he'd been at his lowest point, Mary had waltzed into his life, and he'd grabbed onto her and held fast as she sorted out the mess he'd gotten himself into. She was bubbly, blonde and everything Sherlock had never been. She was his saviour in some ways, and he thought it only fair to return the love she seemed so eager to give. Then they had settled into a life, and John never considered making a gracious exit. And it had seemed only natural to propose to her, after she'd been hinting at it for so long.

Lestrade cleared his throat from his position next to him, snapping John out of his reverie and alerting him to the fact that Mary was nearly at the altar. He took her hand from her father and guided her to stand opposite him. She was smiling, her 100 watt grin, and even though he didn't really want to be there, he felt his lips turn up slightly.

The minister started with something about the significance of marriage, but John wasn't listening. He shot back into awareness when the minister asked if anyone had any objections. His heart skipped a beat, hoping that maybe Sherlock was waiting outside, waiting to burst through the door.

But nothing happened, and the minister continued. It wasn't long after that, during Mary's vows that the doors were flung open, and quick sharp footsteps made their way up the aisle. John didn't dare to turn around, but Mary whipped her head around, and the words died on her lips.

'John?' It was that voice, the voice he'd dreamt of for years. It sounded like a simple 'turn around and face me', but the voice was questioning him, asking him if this was okay, or if he was crossing a line. That threw John; he wasn't used to Sherlock needing his permission. He took a deep breath.

'You're late.' He replied as he turned around to face him. To meet those piercing eyes. He looked the same – same coat, same hair. They looked at each other, not really seeing and John considered everything that this meant. He was here. He was here for John.

When John wasn't reliving all the memories they had together, he dreamed that Sherlock would stride back into his life and act like he'd never been away and they'd pick up where they'd left off – fighting crime and saving the city. But as the days had turned into months and then into years, the dreams had turned dark – Sherlock still came back but as a corpse - the injuries on the side of his head glowing with blood, his flesh rotting away and John had forced himself into knowing that Sherlock wasn't coming back. But now he was here, and it was like the past three years had never happened. It was like he was staring up from the road to the roof again, and just like he had that day, John felt scared.

'What exactly is happening here?' Mary's father stood, turning to face them.

'Leave it, daddy.' John glanced at Mary. She had this small sad smile on her face, but she knew what this meant. Before her father could argue, she added: 'Go with him, John.'

John was shocked. He genuinely had no idea what the proper behaviour was for this eventuality. Did he hug her? Or just leave? She smiled her sad smile again and gently pushed him towards Sherlock. He caught her hand before she could pull it away from his shoulder and he kissed it. Smiling, he retreated to where Sherlock stood, halfway up the aisle. When John reached him, he turned and led the way out of the church and he just kept walking. John, unsure of what to do, just followed him.

Eventually, Sherlock turned abruptly into an alleyway and spun on his heel to face the other man. When he didn't say anything, John started laughing. And once he'd started, he couldn't stop. Sherlock stood and watched him laugh, a crinkle of confusion between his eyebrows. John straightened up, wiping the tears from his eyes.

'You're not dead.'

'Well, I would've thought that much was obvious.' The insanity John had felt previously quickly dissipated, replaced by a burning feeling of anger.

'Obvious? Obvious? It's been nearly three years, Sherlock! Three years and not even a word, no knowledge that you were alive! I've been here, wallowing in self-pity and all the while you've been perfectly fine and obviously just a simple phone call was too much to ask!'

'John-'

'No. I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead. What gives you the right to come storming back into my life now? On my wedding day of all days!'

'I-'

'Stop! I don't want to hear anything unless it's an explanation of where you've been, why you couldn't call, and why the hell you're back now.'

'For you.'

'No- wait, what?' John replied, confusion written all over his face.

'Well, I believed that if you didn't hear from me, then you would move on with your life. I've been informed that I was a damaging influence on you. But when I heard about your wedding, I couldn't bring myself to leave you.'

'So, you wanted me to move on with my life, but getting married was moving too far?'

'Effectively, yes. It seems that I had underestimated my feelings for you.'

'Oh, so you need _friends_ now, do you?'

'No. I need more than that.'

John was stunned into silence by that. Was this Sherlock returning his feelings? He hurried forward and grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his coat, pulling him down and joining their lips. He couldn't vocalise what he thought, so he hoped this would be enough. He poured everything into that connection, the desperation he felt, the anger, but above all, he tried to show Sherlock how much he cared.

They separated after what seemed like an eternity and rested their foreheads together.

'Don't you dare leave me again.'

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

It took a while for everything to calm down after the wedding, and John spoke to Mary, thanked her for bowing out gracefully. After that, it was like Sherlock had never been away. They still went out with Lestrade to solve even the strangest of crimes (after having Mycroft pull some strings to get Sherlock's name cleared). John was by his side for everything – the chases, the deductions. And at the end of the day, with Sherlock's solid presence wrapped around him in their bed, John dreamed of the future, instead of the past.


End file.
